Stranger to stranger

One step forward

Dear stranger,

There's a pure delicacy in the way your fingers touch on me. Your eyes are drowning in curiosity to see what my surface lays. Let me tell you, some secrets may stay hidden until their time comes. But, time is to be conquered. The human is made to try to out run time by testing its limits. Humans will never be satisfied with the time they have because we are made to always want more. More is power, more is wisdom, more is what we are missing. Infinite can be more, but it could never be time. Eventually, everything runs out of time. Everything has an end since its time started. We push it's limits by always giving more effort, in fear time will impose an end. That is why you give a little more of yourself into everything that matters to you. Hug tighter, breathe deeper, love better. You might never get to do it again. Time is a sad reality we imposed upon ourselves. If time didn't exist, would we put the same effort in? It seems easier to cherish something you might lose than something certain. If your misery seems so certain to you, you'll surrender to it. You surrendered, didn't you? Death seemed so certain you stopped trying. They say depressed people are the smartest because they can see how society doesn't make sense. If you're so smart, why would you let time eat you alive? You should be the one pushing its limits by living every second it gives you, like a normal human being would do. But you're not so normal, are you? It's not up to me to tell you whether you're special or not. It's up to you to see your life from another point of view. What if I told you I want to help you fall in love with life again. Help you see the world from my eyes, in all of its beauty. Would you say yes? Are you willing to give time another chance, and to give yourself the right to enjoy the world for a little while. There are 5 other letters like this one. Each at different locations, with different meanings and different actions to accomplish. But, you have to do everything the six letters say, not moving forward to another letter without accomplishing the one before. If you don't want my help, it's okay. After all, you know yourself better than me. I'm only a piece of paper, right? May you put back the letter where you found it to give the chance of a new perspective to another soul. Who knows, they might want to give life hope.

PS: I am where you wanted to be.

Wishing to talk to you again,

Another stranger.

Those words were stuck in my head for the past hour or so, without disappearing for even a second. The thought of someone wanting to help another with letters, pieces of paper. How could words save a life? Why would anyone take their time to write a stranger a note saying 'You don't want to be here, let me change your mind'? They would have to be extremely good with words to even think someone would listen to a boring puzzle. Talking like they know what I'm feeling, like they know what we're all feeling. How would they know? It's like they think thinking so negatively is a choice we made. Trust me, if I had the choice to enjoy life, I would. Making me feel guilty for being a mess. It brings me rage and confusion to even let a stranger get into my head. I shouldn't feel guilty, I didn't choose to be this miserable. I don't even know them, why would they feel the right to tell me what to do with my life? This is a whole lot of stupidity. And now, I spent my whole English class thinking of these words without being able to work for even a second. I was supposed to write a text but the words wouldn't come to my mind. Words were never a problem for me, they were always so easy. That's why I love writing so much, it just comes naturally. One of the rare things that feel natural to me. Don't be fooled, only written words feel natural. Communication was never my thing. I don't know why speaking is so different from writing. They both are about sharing information and speaking your thoughts. Maybe, it's about who hears your thoughts. When you speak, you have a present audience listening to you live. When you write, you're interacting with yourself or an eventual stranger. You can just lay words on paper without fearing feeling judged. Even so, you feel less stressed to share when there's no one listening but you. There's nothing more natural than listening to your own thoughts. Why isn't it now?